


wildfires

by chasingredballoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, shameless strap-on smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 13:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10280189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingredballoons/pseuds/chasingredballoons
Summary: Sombra allows the kiss to continue for just long enough that Widowmaker's hands start inching towards her chest, before Sombra is inexplicably pulling back with a giggle. Widowmaker glares at her, and Sombra just grins wider. "I have a surprise for you."Any remaining tendrils of sleepiness leave Widowmaker immediately. The last time Sombra had said something like that, accompanied by that mischievous smirk, Widowmaker had barely been able to walk right the next day, the red marks around her wrists from the handcuffs had taken a full week to fade, and Widowmaker was genuinely surprised that Sombra hadn’t actually drawn blood from the bite marks decorating her neck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> of course the first thing i contribute to this fandom is porn. there's fics with actual plot coming soon, but in the meantime have this filth. loosely inspired by [this prompt](https://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/679.html?thread=1035175#cmt1035175) on the overwatch kink meme.  
> title from wildfires by the limousines and please come yell about these villain girlfriends to me on [tumblr](http://lauracarmillas.tumblr.com).

Widowmaker doesn't think she's ever been so exhausted in her life.

A simple mission of stealing some technology from one of Volskaya Industries partner companies turns into a veritable shitstorm when half of Overwatch seems to show up at once, guns blazing and destroying Reaper and Widowmaker’s perfect plan of attack.

The constant loudmouthed thorn in Widowmaker’s side that is Tracer is annoying as always, constantly managing to be one obnoxious blue blink ahead of Widowmaker’s bullets. Volskaya’s pink-haired lapdog gets a good few punches in on her at one point before she can grapple to safety. It takes one of the Airborne Amari’s concussion blasts knocking her and at least three other Talon operatives through the side of a building for Reaper to huff over the comms that they are to retreat immediately.

And the cherry on top of the whole disaster, she also got shot.

Just in the arm, so nothing too serious, but it still fucking hurts. Not the mention the fact it was Ana Amari who shot her, which just makes it even worse. Widowmaker is very much looking forward to the chance to give her a matching eyepatch on the left side of her face.

She couldn't even nap on Reaper's shoulder on the flight home due to an irrelevant operative Widowmaker doesn't care to know the name of's incessant snoring. When they finally make it back to the Talon base, Widowmaker attempts to sneak off back to her quarters, but is ambushed by the doctors, immediately whisking her off to the medical bay to look at her arm.

By the time they've stitched and bandaged her up, and pumped her full of painkillers and medication, Widowmaker is exceedingly grumpy, and just wants to get back to her room so she can sleep for a week. So inevitably, she and Reaper are called into the conference room to debrief on the catastrophe of a mission.

She’s been back at the base for a solid hour before she’s free to stomp back to her room, idly wondering if she’s allowed to put a bullet in someone, maybe one of the expendable new recruits that were so utterly useless in fending off the swarm of Overwatch agents, to make her feel better.

“Where’s the purple menace?” Reaper asks, falling into step beside her as they make their way back to their private quarters. “Surprised she didn’t appear with her usual dramatics and flourish the second we touched down.”

“What, you expect her to miss your ugly mug?” Widowmaker asks, already feeling the tension bleeding out of her as she lets the emotionless and unfeeling facade start to drop now that she’s away from Talon’s prying eyes.

“No, but she insisted on telling me in great detail, along with a few completely unnecessary hand gestures, what she planned on doing to you once we returned from this mission.” Widowmaker is interested. “I’d hate for you to miss out on what sounded like such a fun time.” Widowmaker is _very_ interested. “She was talking flowers all over your room, lots of candles to make it real romantic—”

“Shut the fuck up, Reyes.”

Reaper snorts. “Pleasure working with you as always, Lacroix.”

Reaper disappears off to his own quarters, throwing in a mocking salute as a parting gesture, and Widowmaker lets out a sigh of relief when the door to her own room comes into view. Making sure the door is locked behind her, she dumps her rifle onto the table to clean later along with her visor, strips off her catsuit and turns around to head for the bathroom. She pauses when she notices the current occupant of her bed.

Sombra's sprawled out across the sheets, fast asleep, wearing a purple top with a cartoon spider on it that Widowmaker _thought_ she had just lost. Her gaze drifts down Sombra's body — she knows from experience that Sombra probably has nothing on underneath — and Widowmaker briefly contemplates waking her up for some enthusiastic _you’re-back-from-a-mission-and-you-didn’t-die_ sex, before deciding that she's too sleepy to let Sombra fuck her.

Plus they’ll have plenty of time tomorrow. Neither of them are scheduled for any missions or medical check ups, so unless Overwatch decide to be particularly obnoxious and launch an assault on the Talon base, Widowmaker will have Sombra all to herself tomorrow.

She takes a lightning quick shower, quickly washing all the blood and sweat and dirt off herself, and doesn't bother looking for pyjamas after — Sombra’s only going to rip them off her the second she wakes up in the morning — and instead just frees her hair from her ponytail, before making a beeline for the bed. Sombra mumbles something in her sleep when Widowmaker nudges her over so she can squeeze in beside her, and the last thing she registers before falling asleep is Sombra rolling over to cuddle her.

(She’s too sleepy to protest the cuddling, is her excuse when Sombra teases her about it later.)

When she wakes up the next morning, it's to Sombra half on top of her, pressing kisses to her throat.  Widowmaker grumbles sleepily, and she feels Sombra smile against her neck.

"Good morning to you too, araña," Sombra chuckles, pressing a kiss to Widowmaker’s slow pulse point. "Welcome back.”

Widowmaker grumbles again, still too half asleep to form any coherent sentences or indulge Sombra's demands of kisses and attention.

“What happened to your arm?” Sombra asks, running her fingers lightly over the bandage wrapped around the gunshot wound.

“Amari happened,” Widowmaker mumbles, sleepily trying to pull Sombra’s warm body closer. “Lucky shot.”

Sombra happily snuggles closer, miraculously shutting up for once and returning to her task of peppering kisses all over Widowmaker’s neck and jaw. As sleepy as she still is, Widowmaker perks up quite quickly when Sombra shifts to fully straddle her and abandons her neck in favour of kissing her properly. Sombra sighs against her when Widowmaker’s tongue slides into her mouth, and Widowmaker feels herself relax more, losing herself in the familiar and comforting sensation of Sombra’s weight on top of her and Sombra’s lips on her own. And then Sombra grinds down against her stomach, already hot and wet against her bare skin, and all rational thought goes flying straight out of her head.

“Someone’s eager,” she mumbles into the kiss, valiantly attempting to keep her voice steady.

It borders on embarrassing, really, how quickly Sombra can start working her up and drive her crazy. All it takes is a few heated kisses and some well-placed grinding and suddenly she’s putty in the hacker’s talented hands. She’d hate it if she didn’t crave it so much.

Sombra smiles against her mouth. “What can I say, I missed you.”

“Is that so?” Widowmaker murmurs, tugging at the bottom of _her_ shirt that Sombra’s wearing. “This is mine. I’ve been looking for it.”

“I can take it off if you’d like,” Sombra giggles, and without bothering to wait for a response, she sits up and tugs the shirt over her head.

“Much better,” Widowmaker purrs, and tugs Sombra back down into a kiss.

Sombra allows the kiss to continue for just long enough that Widowmaker's hands start inching towards her chest, before Sombra is inexplicably pulling back with a giggle. Widowmaker glares at her, and Sombra just grins wider. "I have a surprise for you."

Any remaining tendrils of sleepiness leave Widowmaker immediately. The last time Sombra had said something like _that_ , accompanied by that mischievous smirk, Widowmaker had barely been able to walk right the next day, the red marks around her wrists from the handcuffs had taken a full week to fade, and Widowmaker was genuinely surprised that Sombra hadn’t actually drawn blood from the bite marks decorating her neck.

The sudden interest must show on Widowmaker’s face, because Sombra’s grin turns into a full blown chuckle. Clambering off Widowmaker and then off the bed, Sombra skips over to the dresser, opening the sock drawer that now holds more sex toys than socks since their sleeping together became a regular thing. Widowmaker isn’t sure what Sombra is about to produce, but she isn’t expecting it to just be the harness and Sombra’s toy of choice.

(It's purple, inevitably.)

Widowmaker raises her eyebrows. “Not that I’m complaining at all about what you're suggesting, but I don't see how this is a surprise.”

It’s not like they haven't used it plenty of times before. Widowmaker’s pretty sure she’s still got hand-shaped bruises on her hips courtesy of Sombra from the last time she was flipped over, pinned down and fucked into oblivion.

Sombra’s grin somehow manages to become more feral. “Because I don’t want to fuck _you_ with it, I want _you_ to fuck _me_ with it.”

Widowmaker can't help it; she winces. Thanks to Talon and their modifications to her body, she isn't exactly the best at keeping up with strenuous exercise, so as much as she would like to hold Sombra down and pound into her until she’s screaming, it unfortunately isn't the most feasible of situations. As proven by their last—  and only — attempt at Widowmaker fucking Sombra with it, which resulted in a slightly mortified Widowmaker desperately trying to catch her breath after nearly passing out from exertion on top of Sombra.

"Sombra—"

"I know, I know, last attempt was a disaster," Sombra says airily, as if it wasn't one of the most mortifying moments of Widowmaker's life. "But, I have a solution. If that's something you'd be interested in."

Widowmaker nods warily, watching Sombra's face light up in a bizarre mix of lust and glee.

"All you have to do," Sombra starts, returning to the bed and beginning to attach the harness to Widowmaker's hips. "Is lie there,” Sombra continues, fiddling about with the harness until the straps are secure and the toy is tucked neatly into it. “Let me do all the work,” Sombra says, flicking the tip of the toy with her finger and giggling like a five year old when it bobs about crudely. "And you just enjoy the show," Sombra finishes, swinging a leg over Widowmaker’s waist to straddle her, before pulling her into a filthy kiss and— oh.

 _Oh_.

The pieces finally slot into place and Widowmaker feels a bit dumb for not putting it together quicker. The image of Sombra shamelessly riding her, as loud and wanton as she always is when Widowmaker is inside her, pops into her head and she groans into the kiss.

Sombra's tongue licks into her mouth, and Widowmaker decides to actually put her hands to use, lifting them off the bed to roam all over Sombra's body. They drift round to Sombra's chest, and Sombra groans into her mouth when Widowmaker runs her thumbs over Sombra's nipples, the metal pierced through them cool in comparison to the rest of Sombra’s heated skin.

"God, I missed you," Sombra murmurs between kisses. Widowmaker tries not to laugh. Even compared to Widowmaker herself, Sombra isn't exactly the sentimental type. "I missed having you inside me, fucking me so good I forget my own name."

That's more like it.

Widowmaker growls lowly, leaving Sombra's chest to grab at her ass, pulling her down to grind against the toy. Sombra whimpers, and Widowmaker isn't sure if it's at the pressure against her clit, or the possessive grip Widowmaker has on her hips. Probably both.

Widowmaker is usually content to let Sombra set the pace. They've been sleeping together for long enough that she knows Sombra will stop immediately if she shows any kind of discomfort, but she also knows Sombra loves it when she gets rough and possessive, sinking her teeth into Sombra's neck, dragging her nails down Sombra's back and whispering _tu m'appartiens_ into Sombra's ear, while she roughly slams her fingers into her.

Sombra pants breathlessly as she grinds against the toy, dropping her head to press their foreheads together, her darkened blue eyes burning into Widowmaker’s. Widowmaker rakes her nails down Sombra's back, enjoying the visible shudder that goes through her, before she cups the backs of her thighs and starts nudging her upwards. "Up," she growls. "I want to taste you first."

Sombra whines, and Widowmaker catches a brief glimpse of the shiny wetness Sombra's left on the strap-on, before Sombra's scrambling up her body to place a knee either side of her head, and Widowmaker gets more than a little distracted by the sight in front of her.

“Impatient, are we?” Widowmaker asks with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk as she takes in how soaked Sombra already is.

“I haven’t had you inside me for a _week_ , of course I’m fucking impatient,” Sombra retorts, glaring down at her.

Widowmaker chuckles, hooking her arms around Sombra’s thighs and tugging her down onto her tongue, and the filthy noise Sombra lets out makes her head cloud over with lust and sends a jolt of white-hot heat shooting through her. She promptly forgets about Talon, forgets about the lingering dull ache in her arm from Amari, forgets about everything that isn’t the sensation of Sombra hot and wet against her mouth.

Sombra squirms and moans appreciatively at each movement of Widowmaker's tongue. She licks broad strokes through Sombra, drags her tongue over Sombra's clit, dips lower to push her tongue inside. Sombra, as always, is extremely responsive; moaning wantonly whenever Widowmaker’s lips and tongue graze over her clit, reaching down with one hand to grab at Widowmaker’s hair to keep her head still while she grinds her hips down against Widowmaker’s mouth, whimpering out a mix of curses in both Spanish and English whenever Widowmaker does something she particularly likes, and various demands of _yes fuck right there_ and _don’t stop, fuck don’t stop_.

When she feels Sombra's thighs start to shake around her head, a telltale sign she’s getting close, she pulls back and motions for Sombra to shift back down.

“Do you want me to—”

 _Touch you first_ dies in Widowmaker’s throat when Sombra reaches behind her, grabs the toy and lines it up with absolutely no preamble.

Sombra looks down at her with a wolfish grin that sends a flash of heat through Widowmaker’s body. “You know I like the stretch.”

Widowmaker stares enraptured as Sombra slowly sinks down onto the toy, gasping and whimpering quietly with each inch that disappears inside her. Halfway down, she lifts back up, and Widowmaker lets out an embarrassing whine when she catches sight of the strap-on covered in slick wetness.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Sombra groans, her voice high and breathy like is usually only is whenever she’s close to coming, making Widowmaker’s grip on her hips tighten instinctively, before she drops back down onto the toy. It doesn’t take long before Sombra’s sitting fully on her lap, the entire toy sheathed inside her. Sombra breathes out a low _fuck_ , hazily blinking her eyes open and grinning rakishly down at Widowmaker.

“Is it too much?” Widowmaker asks, resisting the urge to hold Sombra still and thrust upwards until she’s gasping for air.

Sombra’s smile widens and she shakes her head, leaning down to brush her mouth against Widowmaker’s. “It’s perfect,” she murmurs, and then draws Widowmaker into a slow languid kiss, shuffling about on her lap while she gets used to the size of the toy. It isn’t exactly massive, but it’s certainly longer and thicker than Widowmaker’s fingers.

Breaking the kiss, Sombra sits up and leans back, one hand braced on Widowmaker’s thigh and the other resting lightly on Widowmaker’s stomach, and slowly starts to move her hips. Widowmaker watches mesmerised as Sombra’s eyes flutter shut and her head tips back, moaning lowly with each rhythmic circle of her hips. Her gaze drops lower, down the column of Sombra’s throat, which Widowmaker wants nothing more than to cover with kisses and bite marks and bruises while a possessive voice in the back of her mind screams _mine_ , across her heaving chest and taut stomach, the smattering of small white scars across her left hip where one of that flame-haired Australian's bombs had gone off a bit too close on mission a few years ago, and down to where the toy is slowly disappearing and reappearing.

Widowmaker slides her hands up Sombra’s back, raking her nails back down just to hear the lewd moan that it pulls from Sombra, before dragging them around and up her ribs to run her thumbs over Sombra’s nipples. The slow rhythm of Sombra’s hips falters slightly, and her back arches as she tries to push her chest further into Widowmaker’s hands.

Gradually, Sombra's movements get more and more erratic, her hips barely lifting a few inches off Widowmaker before slamming back down again. Her hands drift back down to grip at Sombra’s hips, urging her to quicken the pace. Despite her legendary patience that she prides herself on, even Widowmaker has her limits, so as much as Widowmaker is enjoying the current view, she enjoys seeing Sombra completely lose control even more.

Hoping she isn’t about to completely embarrass herself again, Widowmaker sits up, holding herself up with her uninjured arm while the other slides around Sombra’s waist, and Sombra lets out a comical yelp when Widowmaker quickly flips them over.

Widowmaker is torn between wanting to fuck Sombra into the mattress, until Sombra’s nails are dragging down her back and her teeth are sinking into Widowmaker’s throat in an effort to muffle her screams, and wanting to drag it out slowly, reducing Sombra to a writhing whimpering mess before having mercy on her and giving her what she wants.

Sombra makes the decision for her; her hands slide down Widowmaker’s back to grab at her ass and tug her forward meaningfully, and she leans up to whisper _I want you to fuck me_  into Widowmaker’s ear, in that low purring whimper that reduces Widowmaker’s self-restraint to mush frighteningly quickly.

Which is just _unfair_. Sombra knows exactly what that voice does to her.

Resisting the urge to just indulge Sombra and pound into her until she’s a wrecked mess, Widowmaker leans her weight on her uninjured arm and starts off by rolling her hips at a leisurely pace. Not enough to make Sombra come apart at the seams just yet, but enough to result in nails raked down her back and Sombra breathlessly panting demands at her.

Usually it’s the other way around, Sombra teasing a desperate and incoherent Widowmaker to within an inch of her life before finally letting her come, and Widowmaker’s head spins with the dizzy rush of power and control she has over Sombra. Even if Sombra is usually the one to take the lead, it doesn’t mean that Widowmaker doesn’t know Sombra’s body like the back of her hand, so she knows just when to slow down or not thrust quite as hard to keep Sombra just teetering on the edge.

“You feel— _fuck_ , so good,” Sombra moans, lifting her legs to wrap her thighs around Widowmaker’s waist, allowing Widowmaker to slide in deeper. “Harder.”

“Oh chérie, you’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to give you what you want,” Widowmaker murmurs lowly, dipping her head to drag her tongue up the length of Sombra’s throat, before biting down and sucking a mark into the skin.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m so close, cariño _please_ ,” Sombra whimpers almost immediately, and the sound of Sombra giving in and  _begging_ sends a bolt of white-hot arousal straight through Widowmaker.

"Let go, Sombra," Widowmaker purrs, trapping Sombra’s earlobe in between her teeth and tugging slightly. "I want to hear you scream for me."

Widowmaker picks up the pace with her hips, slamming as hard as she can into Sombra, and the exertion of effort is worth it for the strangled incoherent moan Sombra lets out when she comes. She keeps fucking Sombra through her orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible before Sombra gives a weak shove at her hips to stop her.

Widowmaker sits up, leaning back on her haunches to take in the sight of a thoroughly wrecked Sombra sprawled out underneath her; her glassy half-lidded eyes, her flushed face and neck, her heaving chest. Sombra whimpers when Widowmaker slowly pulls the toy out of her, tugging at the buckles on the harness until it comes undone, and dumps it on the floor next to the bed to deal with later.

She flops down onto the bed next to a spent Sombra, propping up her head on her hand and regarding Sombra with a smug look.

Sombra’s unimpressed look kind of falls flat considering how out of breath she sounds when she speaks. “Stop looking so pleased with yourself, Casanova.”

“Stop giving me reasons to be so pleased with myself,” Widowmaker retorts, not bothering to fight off the fond smile she can feel creeping onto her face.

Sombra mutters something in Spanish — Widowmaker catches the words for _spider_ and _smug_ — and then reaches up to cup the back of Widowmaker's neck to pull her down into a kiss that makes her head spin.

Since her attention had been fully taken up by Sombra, Widowmaker doesn’t realise quite how turned on she is until Sombra rolls her over onto her back, immediately slotting a thigh between her legs. A moan slips out before Widowmaker can stop it, and her hips twitch up against the pressure from Sombra’s thigh of their own accord.

“Impatient, are we?” Sombra giggles, mimicking Widowmaker’s teasing from earlier.

Widowmaker narrows her eyes. “Be quiet.”

She regrets saying that the second Sombra opens her mouth for her entirely too predictable response. “Make me.”

Widowmaker groans, and Sombra cackles like a hyena until Widowmaker shuts her up with a kiss. Her fingers trail down Sombra’s back, over the cybernetic grafts and down to her ass, pulling Sombra harder against her so she can shamelessly grind against the thigh wedged between her legs until Sombra pulls away to start trailing kisses down her throat, across her chest and stomach, and then along the insides of her thighs.

Widowmaker’s whole body feels like a damn live wire, each brush of Sombra’s lips against her skin sending another spark of electricity through her to throb between her thighs. She lets out an embarrassingly desperate moan when Sombra’s tongue finally lands on her, and after Sombra slides two fingers inside her, immediately angling to hit against the spot that makes Widowmaker see stars, it doesn't take long until her orgasm rips through her like a wildfire, one hand tangled in Sombra’s hair and the other gripping the bedsheets in a white-knuckle grip, while her hips jerk up into Sombra’s attentive touches.

When the world comes back to her, Widowmaker glances down between her legs to see Sombra grinning smugly up at her, head leaning against one of her thighs and the bottom half of her face covered in shiny wetness. Sombra keeps their eyes locked as she lifts her hand and very slowly and very deliberately sucks her fingers clean, the lewd image sending a weak stab of pleasure through Widowmaker’s exhausted body.

Resisting the urge to make a dumb, Sombra-esque comment about being a messy eater, Widowmaker tugs on Sombra’s hair until she gets the hint and scrambles back up the bed. Already feeling sleepy again, Widowmaker settles back against the pillows, and Sombra immediately curls up next to her, her head on Widowmaker’s chest and her arm flung across Widowmaker’s stomach.

Widowmaker reaches down and tugs up the blanket to cover them both — more for Sombra’s sake that her own; it can’t be the most pleasant of things cuddling someone with the body temperature of a corpse — and fights off a yawn. Despite her best efforts, she knows she’s going to fall asleep soon.

“You’re getting too many ideas about cuddling,” Widowmaker mumbles, completely contradicting herself by wrapping an arm around Sombra’s shoulders and pulling her tighter against her.

“Mhm,” Sombra hums contentedly. “Whatever you say, Amés.”

Widowmaker’s already half-asleep, slowly being lulled into unconsciousness by Sombra’s slow steady breathing and the warmth emanating from her body, but she doesn’t miss the gentle kiss Sombra presses to her throat, or the quietly murmured _te extrañe mi amor_.

Widowmaker still doesn't speak Spanish, but she understands regardless.


End file.
